


Sparrow and The Stone

by Akoia



Series: Magic and Masks [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Beginning of Slytherin house politics, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Crime Fighting, F/M, Magic, Masks, Minor Violence, Mystery, Slytherin Harry Potter, batfam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoia/pseuds/Akoia
Summary: Harry Potter is finally 11 years old. He trained under Bruce Wayne and became the Sparrow, and now he's onto a brand new adventure.Leaving behind his family in America for the term to begin his Hogwarts Education Harry Potter meets new friends, makes new enemies, and finds that not everything is how it  appears in the winding halls of the ancient castle.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon (mentioned)
Series: Magic and Masks [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1184681
Comments: 30
Kudos: 303
Collections: DC Universe Fanfic Must Reads, Harry Potter Fanfic Must Reads





	1. Diagon Alley

**Author's Note:**

> We're finally onto Hogwarts and I am so excited!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget that this universe takes place in the early 2000s, so if the time-line seems weird, that would be why.   
> This story starts in 2012, for example. 
> 
> The specific year doesn't actually matter very much tbh.

Harry Potter woke to a light rapping on his window. He opened his eyes and found a dark brown owl was pecking at the glass impatiently, with a letter clutched in her beak. Harry gasped and jumped out of bed, throwing his thick covers to the side. He wrenched the window open and held out his hand for the bird. "Would you mind staying a bit?" He asked her. "I need to write my reply. You can come downstairs for a bit of water if you'd like." 

The bird hooted and jumped inside, landing on Harry's shoulder. He winced at the sharp claws that dug into his skin, but he wasn't _bleeding,_ so he was sure he'd be fine. He trotted downstairs, the letter clutched tightly in his hand. It was often that Harry thought he was going to wake up at any moment in the cupboard under the stairs. That everything had been a crazy dream. Bruce Wayne hadn't adopted him. He didn't have three brothers (Tim hadn't been officially adopted, but that was beside the point). He wasn't magic. But the letter was physical proof that it was real. 

Alfred was already in the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw the bird perched on Harry's shoulder. "Get that bird out of my kitchen," he said sternly, and Harry didn't bother to argue. He let the bird settle itself on a coat rack, and threw the morning paper underneath the bird. He walked back into the kitchen and found that Alfred was platting breakfast for three people.

"May I have a piece of bacon and a bowl of water?" He asked. "For the owl, she's come a long way to give me my letter." 

Alfred gave him a _look_ but did as Harry asked. "Clean up whatever mess it leaves, Master Harry," he ordered.

"Yes sir," Harry said. He wrote a quick reply _'I would love to attend your school. I will be attending this year.'_ He took the offerings to the bird and when she was finished, he cleaned up after her and opened a window so she could get out, giving her his reply. Then he went to the dining room. Tim and Bruce were both finally awake. It _had_ been a long night. Tim had been on the coms, but they'd all been up until the sun was peeking up over the clouds.

"It's here!" Harry said, showing Bruce the letter. 

"Don't leave us in suspense!" Tim said, popping up behind Harry, and looking over his shoulder. "What does it say!?" 

Harry looked at the outside of the envelope. 

_'Mister Harry Potter._

_Wayne Manor._

_Second Floor Third Bedroom_

_Gotham City, America.'_

_Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. The term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

  1. _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_
  2. _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_
  3. _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_
  4. _One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_



_Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

_by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

_Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS_

_ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK_

At the end of the letter, there was a third page, addressed to him by the same deputy headmistress. It pretty much said that she would be coming the next day to escort him to the place where he would be buying all his school supplies. "She's coming over tomorrow morning," Harry said, biting his lip. 

"I want to meet her before she takes you anywhere," Bruce said, taking a bite of his eggs. It was no secret to Harry what Bruce thought about Albus Dumbledore and everyone who worked under him. He didn't trust them, and neither did Harry, but they didn't think that Dumbledore would do anything to purposefully hurt Harry while he was in school. 

Harry shrugged and looked back down at his letter. "Can I have a cat?" He asked. 

"Are you going to take _care_ of a cat?" Bruce shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"I will!" Harry insisted. 

"Not this year," Bruce said. "Get good grades, and we'll talk about it next year." 

"Yes!" Harry cheered.

* * *

Sparrow was benched for the night. He had somewhere to be early in the morning, but that didn't stop him from monitoring CTV cameras for the Bat. It was just him and Tim in the cave, sitting in spinny chairs, and watching the footage. 

"So...I came up with a name," Tim said, while things were quiet. 

"Oh?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I want to be The Cardinal. Like the red bird, you know? Like, maybe we can keep this bird motif and make a statement with it." He shrugged. "Dick passed Robin onto Jason, but Jason died before he could pick a successor. So I think...he should be the _last Robin."_

Harry smiled, looking over toward the suit that hung up in the middle of the cave. What Jason had been in the day he died. It was a memorial. Homage to someone they all missed. But Bruce used it to torture himself. Harry hoped that Tim would help Bruce heal. While none of them would ever stop missing Jason, he knew his brother wouldn't want them to spend their lives cutting themselves apart. "I like that idea," Harry told the younger boy. "Any idea what you want your uniform to look like?" He asked. 

Tim blushed and reached into his school folder. He pulled out a piece of paper and slid it over to Harry who picked it up. It reminded Harry quite a bit of the uniform that Jason had worn when Dick passed it on. But gone were the cheerful yellows and bright greens. Replaced with deep dark reds and black. "It's perfect," Harry said, handing it back to him. "Make sure to get that the Alfred and he'll see about getting it made for you." 

* * *

Harry wasn't used to sleeping for more than five or six hours. So he woke up at four in the morning and spent hours looking up at the ceiling. He'd put glow in the dark stars, and traced them with his eyes, making up constellations. And when the sun was up, he got up, made his bed, and got dressed. He spent a few minutes in the mirror, trying to get his hair to lay flat, but-as always-he had no luck. He ran his fingers through it and turned away. 

He went down the stairs and found that Bruce was sitting in the living room with a stern-looking woman. The two of them were drinking tea, speaking quietly. When they saw Harry in the archway of the drawing-room, the woman stood up. "Mister Potter, I presume?" She asked. 

"That'd be me, ma'am," he said with a smile. 

She observed him, straightening her glasses. "You look _just_ like your father, it's fairly startling. Except for the eyes," she said, her face softening for a second. "You have your mother's eyes." 

"You knew my parents?" Harry asked. 

"Yes, I did," she answered. "I was their professor at Hogwarts. As I'll also be yours." 

Harry wanted to ask her. But looking at Bruce, he stopped himself. Would it upset Bruce if he wanted to know more about the Potter's who _hadn't_ died in a car crash like Petunia had told him years ago? Would he be angry? Harry had spent quite a while in the Wayne household, and in that time, Harry had never seen Bruce's anger directed toward him. At Jason or Dick, yes, several times. And he never wanted that kind of attention turned on him. He didn't think Bruce would ever _hit_ him, but he decided to wait to ask.

"Today we will be heading to Diagon Alley to collect your things for school," the woman said. She pulled out a dusty garden glove from her handbag. "This is a Portkey, it will transport us there." 

"I'd like to come with you," Bruce said, standing up. 

"Of course, Mister Wayne," she said. She touched the glove with the tip of a long wooden stick. Her _wand,_ Harry assumed with wide eyes. "When everyone is ready, please touch this, and we'll be off."

It felt like being pulled by a long cane from under his navel. When the ride was over, Harry swayed dangerously on his feet. He looked to the side and found Bruce was leaning against a brick wall, but he stood straighter and adjusted his tie. Always picture perfect, years of training preparing him for just about any situation. 

Harry started to draw attention from the people passing by him. He heard his name whispered several times. He stood closer to Bruce and turned his head down. One man came up to him, took his hand, shaking it. "Welcome back, mister Potter, welcome back!" He said brightly. 

"O-oh! Thank you, sir," Harry said, giving him the most charming smile he could manage. Several other people came up to shake his hand before Professor McGonagall shooed them away from Harry. 

"He _does_ have errands to run, leave the poor boy alone," she ordered one man who had circled back for another handshake. She led Harry and Bruce to a brick wall, tapped a few, and stood to the side when it parted for her. "Welcome," she said, standing to the side. "To Diagon Alley." 

Harry stepped through and was instantly amazed by what he saw. It felt like coming home, what he could only describe as magic flowed through the air, and tickled his skin. He looked up at Bruce, who seemed just as amazed, but he hid it behind a stoic face. He looked down at Harry-who was beaming-and his lips lifted. 

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons -- All Sizes -- Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.  
  
"You'll be needing a few things from here," Professor McGonagall said, almost to herself. "But first we need to stop at Gringotts to get your money." 

"Oh," Bruce said. "If I'd know, I would have brought cash with me." 

Professor McGonagall looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry mister Wayne, we don't use muggle money here. We're on a gold standard." 

"Ah," Bruce said. "So I take it none of these shops take credit cards." 

Harry snorted and tried not to roll his eyes at his guardian. 

The streets were amazing. Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump red-haired woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."  
  
A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest ever -- " There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...  
  
"Gringotts," McGonagall said, gesturing up.  
  
They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -- 

"It's rude to stare," Bruce corrected him with a hand on his shoulder. 

"Right," Harry said, his cheeks getting a bit pink. "Sorry, but what are they, professor?" Harry asked. 

"They are goblins," McGonagall said as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. "They run the bank." The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside.

Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_  
_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_  
_For those who take, but do not earn,_  
_Must pay most dearly in their turn._  
_So if you seek beneath our floors_  
_A treasure that was never yours,_  
_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

They walked behind McGonagall who presented a key to the man behind the counter. "We are here to collect the school funds for Mister Harry Potter," she said. 

He looked at them over his glasses. "Muggles must wait in the lobby," he said, gesturing toward a row of chairs. "And I'll have someone take you down to the vaults." 

Bruce didn't look _happy,_ but he nodded to Harry to go on without him. So Harry followed his professor and the Goblin called Griphook escorting them. They were loaded up into a cart with a lantern on the front, and they took off like they had been fired from a cannon. Harry grabbed onto the side of the cart and yelped as they whipped about. 

At first, they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its way because Griphook wasn't steering.  
  
Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late -- they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

When they came to a stop, McGonagall's hair was slightly out of place, but she stood as if nothing had happened. She reached a hand out to Harry and helped him out of the cart. Harry's legs were a little shakier. It felt like they had just ridden the world's most dangerous roller coaster. 

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze coins scattered around the piles away. "This is...mine?" Harry asked. It's not like he _wanted_ more money, but he never forgot that it was all Bruce's and he was essentially just leach. He felt joy when he saw McGonagall nodding.

"All yours," she said with a smile. 

All Harry's -- it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about it when he was younger or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained about how much Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London. 

Harry didn't need money in the 'muggle' world, Bruce _never_ complained about keeping clothed and fed. But it was nice to know that when Harry was older, he wouldn't always have to rely on The Wayne family money. He could give back to Bruce one day. Maybe when he was old and gray. When he finally put the cowl up, Harry could build him a nice little cabin away from the city. Or a skyscraper. Whatever he wanted. 

McGonagall pulled a pouch out and started to fill it with all sorts of coins. She handed it to Harry and told him to keep it safe. "The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. This should be enough for this term and you should still have quite a bit as spending money for the year." She stood straighter and looked at the cart with a sigh. "Well...I suppose we should be heading back. We do have supplies to get, after all." 

The ride on the return was no smoother. Before Harry knew it he, professor McGonagall, and Bruce were blinking in the sun outside of the bank. "We should get your uniform," McGonagall said. 

It was the closest shop to the bank. She opened the door for them, the little bell above the door ringing cheerfully. Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. She came around the corner and smiled brightly when she saw Harry  
  
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked when Harry opened his mouth. "Got the lot here -- another young man being fitted up just now." She looked at Bruce and McGonagall. "Please wait in the front. It should only take a few minutes."   
  
Harry was once again separated from his guardian. In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.  
  
"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"  
  
"Yes," said Harry.  
  
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why the first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry squished his lips together to keep the groan of annoyance from surfacing. Yes, Harry was a rich kid. But he _hated_ rich kids from school. And this boy was so obviously one of their kind, that Harry instantly disliked him. And yet he continued, as if not noticing Harry's disinterest in his entire existence. 

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.  
  
"No," said Harry.  
  
"Play Quidditch at all?"  
  
"No," Harry said again, looking out the front window.   
  
"I do -- Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"  
  
"No," said Harry again, wishing he could be anywhere else.   
  
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family has been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Mmm," said Harry. 

"Where are your parents?" The boy suddenly asked. 

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.  
  
"Oh, sorry," said the other, not sounding sorry _at all_. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"  
  
"They were a witch and wizard if that's what you're asking." Harry looked at the boy and narrowed his eyes.   
  
"I don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even _heard_ of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"  
  
But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool.  
  
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.

Harry left with seven sets of the school uniform. One for each day of the week. They were told at the front desk that they would stretch with Harry while he was growing, so it would be two years before he'd need to come in and have them replaced. They stepped back out into the street and Harry sighed heavily. 

"Perhaps a spot of lunch?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Before we head to the bookshop?" 

Harry jerked his head up and down once. He and Bruce followed behind the older woman as she made her way through the streets like she had done it a million times before. Which, Harry realized, she had. She'd probably done it when she was Harry's age. But she'd grown up among wizards. Harry had never gotten that chance. He didn't know anything about them. Their culture, their traditions, their laws. 

Harry's parents _were_ magical. But Harry had been separated from their world and been sent to live with his aunt and uncle. And the boy in the robes shop had made it quite clear how _he_ felt about 'the other sort.' But what Harry was wondering, was he one of those 'other sorts?' He'd been right. Harry wasn't the same. And he didn't learn about Hogwarts until an old bearded man came to tell him when he was nine.

When they sat down at a little dinner, the adults seemed to notice that Harry was lost in thought. "Professor," Harry said, looking up from the menu. "I had a question." 

"Of course," she said with a nod. 

"Am I going to fall behind, because I don't know any magic?" He asked. "Will I be at a disadvantage over the children whose parents were both magical?" 

"Goodness no," the stern woman said. "We take in hundreds of muggle-born magical children every new school year. And anyone of them do just as well as their classmates whose parents have magic. Your mother, for instance," she said and Harry perked up. He actually had never heard anyone talk about his parents. Other than Zatana, who only knew second-hand information. "She was the top of her classes her entire career in Hogwarts. And head-girl to boot. She was an exemplary student and a very gifted witch."

"Really?" Harry asked. 

"Yes," McGonagall said insistently. 

"Thank you, professor, it's just..." Harry trailed off, pressing his lips together. "There's so much I don't know. I met a boy in the robe shop and he asked if I played 'Quidditch'. He asked what house I thought I'd be in. And if I didn't know something so simple, what else am I missing?" 

"There is nothing you can't learn from books," she said. "I can give you a recommended list if you'd like." 

"Thank you, professor," he said. "The boy also mentioned...'the other sort.' He said that they shouldn't be _allowed_ to attend Hogwarts." 

Professor McGonagall actually looked a little shocked. She leaned in closer. "He said that to you?" She whispered, eyes darting around for a moment. Harry ducked his head and nodded. McGonagall straightened up and sighed deeply. "I'm going to be frank with you, mister Potter," she said. "Your personal history and the tragedy therein is rife with the ignorance of others. Your mother was muggle-born, your father was what the prejudice members of our society call a 'pureblood.'" She put quotations around the word, rolling her eyes. She looked at Bruce who was nursing a cup of tea quietly. "I take it neither of you has been informed about the war that ended eleven years ago?" She asked. 

"We know about Volde-" Bruce said before McGonagall shushed him with wide eyes. 

"It's not considered polite to mention you-know-who's in public, mister Wayne," she said. She took a breath and straightened up. "The idea that muggle-borns were less than is an old-and wrong-idea. In the 1950s the movement gained momentum. Groups of old families were joining with a dark wizard. They not only believed that muggles and muggle-borns were _less than_ they were subhuman. And should be held under the thumb of wizardkind. You-know-who and his followers were murdering people in their homes. By the time you were born, the wizarding world was in full-blown war. It was a terrible time.

"Your parents were fighters in the war until they learned that you-know-who was coming to personally kill them. They went into hiding and they had something called a secret-keeper who was the only person who knew where they were." 

Harry's hands tightened into a white-knuckled fist. His face remained impassive, taking in the details, as Sparrow would take in the clues to a case. "So whoever this individual was, betrayed them." It wasn't a question and from the look on her face, Harry assumed he was right. He clicked his tongue. "Who was it." 

"His name is Sirius Black. But we'll get to that," Professor McGonagall said. "You-know-who came to your house in Godric's Hollow on the 31st of October, 2002. No one but the people in the home can say for sure what happened, and considering you were the only survivor, well..." she trailed off. "That night, after you-know-who had killed both of your parents, he moved in to kill you as well. But he couldn't. That for some reason, as awful and powerful as he was, he was unable to kill you. That night, his power broke, and he disappeared. Most assumed that he died." 

"Assume?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I, personally, do not believe that you-know-who was ever human enough to truly die." 

While they were talking, their waiter brought over their food and hurried off. Harry took a bite of his sandwich and sighed happily. He could literally taste _magic_ in the food. Amazing as it was, it didn't hold a candle to Alfred's food. Harry ate a few chips-he'd almost forgot the propper English vernacular-and turned his eyes back to McGonagall.

She wasn't lying. She must have known James and Lily Potter personally because even after ten years it seemed to cause her pain to talk about what happened to them. But he still needed information. If this 'Voldemort' character was going to be a problem in the future, he'd need a file already on hand to find a way to defeat him. "And Sirius Black," Harry said. He seemed to catch the woman off guard, and he could see that she struggled to answer him. 

"Black and your father were best friends in school," she said. "Along with a man named Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. They were inseparable. When the war started, Black at some point turned spy for the dark side, and when the opportunity presented itself, he gave away the location of your parents' hiding spot. Peter...poor Peter," she stopped and shook her head. "The next morning, he went to confront Black. It was in a public place. The surviving witnesses all say that they heard Peter shouting at Black for betraying the Potters to you-know-who. Then Black...blew the street apart. He killed thirteen people. Including Peter. When the Aurors apprehended Black they found him doubled over, laughing." 

Harry was fuming. "Thank you, professor, for telling me," Harry said. The rest of their meal passed in silence. When they were finished, McGonagall paid for their meal. 

"Now, should we get your books, or your wand next?" She asked. 

"Books," Harry said. 

* * *

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. He ran his fingers along their spines and smiled sadly. He looked over at Bruce who was reading "The Rise and Fall of Darkness." Harry thought that Jason would have _loved_ the little wizard bookshop. He spent so many hours in the library they had at home. 

Harry tried to commit every title to memory and was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice another boy walking toward him, his nose in a book. The two of them bumped into each other, the newcomer dropping his bags on the ground. The boy looked between Harry and his fallen goods. He sighed deeply and bent down to pick them up. Harry crouched down without having to be asked. 

"Sorry about that," Harry said, handing him the last book in the pile. 

The boy shoved it into the paper bag and set it down on the ground. "You're not completely at fault, I _suppose,_ " he said with a roll of his eyes.

Harry held out his hand. "Harry Potter," he introduced himself. 

He saw a spark in the boy's eyes for just a moment. It reminded Harry of the people at Bruce's galas that wanted a slice of the Wayne fortune. He almost withdrew his hand, but the boy grabbed it. His grip was surprisingly gentle, considering the hunger Harry felt radiating off him. "Blaise Zabini, a pleasure," he said. "I assume that you're out getting your supplies for the term?" He asked. 

"That's right," Harry said, taking a step back. 

Zabini stepped forward, putting his hands behind his back and smiling at Harry. "We'll be in the same year at Hogwarts," he said. "Feel free to keep in touch with me during our time there. I'll be honest with you, Potter, it would be quite advantageous for us to associate with one another." 

"Is that right?" Harry asked. 

"Correct," he said. He bowed his head and stepped back, grabbing his bag of books. "Good afternoon," he said. 

When he was gone, Harry shook his head. 

* * *

The last stop was the wand shop. It was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. 

When they entered the shop a bell rang from somewhere deeper in the shop. They could hear someone wrestling around in the back before an old, owl-eyed man slid into sight on a tall ladder. He stepped off and adjusted his glasses. "Ah, mister Potter, I was wondering when I'd be seeing you," he said. The man's voice was very soft, and it put him at ease, making him feel less like he was in a strict library.

"Hello, sir," Harry said, stepping up to the counter. "I'm here to get a wand." 

"Yes, yes. I thought that'd be the case," he said. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." He clicked his tongue, still not blinking. 

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."  
  
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty silver eyes.  
  
"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. Harry jerked back, but didn't snap at the old man. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

"Well, now -- Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"  
  
"Er -- well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.  
  
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."  
  
Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. Magic was truly amazing, but a fair bit befuddling.   
  
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."  
  
Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.  
  
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try--"  
  
Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.  
  
"No, no -- here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."  
  
Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.  
  
"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -- I wonder, now -- yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."  
  
Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Professor McGonagall clapped politely and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."  
  
He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious...  
  
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"  
  
Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare that had Harry's spine straightening in alarm.  
  
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother -- why, its brother gave you that scar."  
  
Harry didn't react, letting his face shut down any emotion that might have popped up on his face.   
  
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

Harry felt the _overwhelming_ urge to refute that. Voldemort was a cowered. Anyone who would set out to murder a baby had to be. "Thank you, mister Ollivander," Harry said. He took his wand, place it back in the box. He paid for the wand and the party of three left the store. 

They popped back home with another portkey, and McGonagall handed Harry his ticket for the train. Harry put all of his new school thinks into the trunk that he'd brought and headed up to his room. He needed to be alone, just for a bit. 


	2. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

Sparrow's eyes narrowed while he read through a case file. His legs were propped up on the desk, and his mask was beside him. There'd been chatter that a man named James Cole had his fingers in something illegal. And Sparrow was on his scent. Chatter was usually reliable, especially when it came to rich white men from Gotham City. 

Cole was a relatively unimpressive person. His father, Lukas Cole, had died three years before and now the son owned the company that had been started by his four times, great grandfather. The company had originally dealt with coal, but in the 1990s had started to develop renewable energy. Then they started to branch out into anything they could dip their toe in. Tech, cars, food development. On the outside, they appeared to be an environmentally conscious organization that cared about the people who worked for them and the downtrodden. But those were all the previous owners' accomplishments. 

James had done little to _nothing_ since he took over. But the company's profits had shot through the roof. That's where it started to get disquieting. Cole Inc was diversified enough that it wasn't out of the question to think that he'd been building illegal weapons and selling them on the black market. Which was exactly what Sparrow's sources were saying.

There were a few pictures in Sparrow's file. One of which where Cole was talking on the phone, unaware that Cardinale had been on the rooftop across the street. And escorting him was Luis Soto, a mercenary that hadn't made waves, but did have a reputation as being discreet and bloodthirsty. Sparrow firmly believed in innocent until proven guilty. But associating with Soto was damning enough in Sparrow's eyes that he considered passing the case off to someone else to avoid bias. He also wouldn't be able to come back to the case until Christmas. He didn't want Cole to continue his operation-if there was one-for almost four months unchecked. He was leaving the next morning.

They all had lockers in the Batcave-( _Jason's collecting dust. All his stuff still there. No one with enough courage to open it and clean it out. He's gone and it still hurts.)_ -so he opened Tim's and threw the thick file inside. He wrote a little note on the front. "Help me with this while I'm gone. I know you've got this, detective. :)" 

He could trust Cardinale. He was smart and knew how to keep things hush-hush when need be. But he likely wouldn't see it until the weekend, the only time he was able to sneak out of the house. Harry suspected that Jannet and Jackson Drake wouldn't comment if they _did_ find out their ten-year-old was sneaking out of the house and running over to Bruce Wayne's in the middle of the night. 

Harry took off his uniform and hung it up in his locker. There was something...melancholy about knowing he wouldn't be in uniform until he returned home for the Christmas break. He was going to miss it. A lot. He was going to miss fighting right by Batman's side. Hacking CCTV cameras. He was going to miss the awkward patrols where Nightwing and Batgirl would flirt the entire time. 

He smiled, remembering how Bruce had shot him down so fiercely. "If you give a mouse a cookie," Harry said to no one. "He'll want to fight crime dressed in armored spandex." He snapped his fingers and the lights in the cave went out. 

* * *

Harry Potter had never been to Kings Cross Station, even when he'd lived in England. The hustle and bustle were familiar to the subway lines in Gotham. Harry stayed close to Bruce, who was looking for platform nine and three quarters, but it didn't seem to exist. Bruce scanned the crowd, looking for anyone that appeared to be out of the ordinary. 

Harry's eyes eventually settled on a large family of redheads who were dressed _very_ strangely. Particularly the man who was probably the father. Harry elbowed Bruce and pointed toward them and Bruce snapped into action. He walked quickly toward the family and with no better option presented to him, Harry followed. 

"Excuse me," Bruce said with a smile and a wave of his hand. The family all spun around with wide eyes, none sure if they were even supposed to talk to Bruce, who was a muggle. Bruce pushed Harry in front of him. "My son needs to get onto the platform but we have no idea how to do so. Would you mind showing us?" He asked. 

That seemed to clear things up for the redheads. "Oh of _course,"_ the woman said, putting a hand to her chest. "Fred, Goerge, you two go through first and show him how it's done."

"But _I'm Goerge!_ Honestly woman, and you call yourself our mother!" One of the redheaded twins said, pushing his cart forward.

"Oh, I'm sorry Goerge, dear," the woman said, kissing his cheek. 

"I'm only joking, I _am_ Fred!" He said before running forward into the brick wall of the divider between platforms nine and ten. Harry raised a surprised eyebrow when he disappeared. And again when the other twin disappeared. The kind woman gestured for Harry to go. "Come now, dear, go before Ron. Best to do it at a bit of a run, if you're feeling nervous." 

Harry's hands were clasped around the bar of his trolly and he nodded. Never one to shy away from a challenge he broke into a rapid sprint and shut his eyes, right as he was about to collide with the wall. But he didn't crash. Harry opened his eyes and a soft gasp escaped his lips.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks. Parents were handing their children things through the windows of the train where the children sat in compartments. 

Harry turned around when the rest of the redheaded family pushed through. Bruce was with them, and the tall man made his way over to Harry. "So...it's time," he said. Bruce wasn't good with _feelings_ but he _tried_ so Harry cut him some slack. "You're off to school." 

"That I am," he said. He hardly noticed the family going around him and Bruce to mingle among the crowd of hurried people. "I better get on the train, before I miss it." 

"You should..." Bruce coughed and rested his hand on top of Harry's head. "Write at least once a week." 

"Sure. And make sure to keep me updated about Gotham. I'm going to go crazy if you don't." 

"I will," Bruce said with a final nod. "Have a good term and I'll see you this Christmas." 

"See you." He waved goodbye to Bruce who turned and walked out back the way he had come. Maybe Harry should have hugged him. Or said that he'd missed him. Truth be told, Harry wasn't very good at emotions either. The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He slid open the door and grabbed the handle of his bag and lifted. It was _heavy_ even for someone who spent a lot of time lifting their body weight over the side of buildings. He tried to lift it to the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in the above rack of the compartment. "Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. That really shouldn't have been as hard as it was. 

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you-?" 

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?!" he added to Harry, his eyes were wide and excited.

"What?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow. 

"Harry Potter," chorused the twins.

"Oh, him," said Harry with a casual wave of his hand. "Turns out, I am. Funny how that works."

The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door. "Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom," said one of them, Harry wasn't sure. With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train. Harry waved goodbye and thanked them again for their help. Harry sat down with a huff in the seat by the window. While being half-hidden, he was able to watch the redheaded family without them noticing. 

Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief. "Ron, you've got something on your nose," she said, grabbing him by the chin and turning his head up to look at her. 

"Mom -- geroff" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it. "Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm upfront, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves-"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once-"

"Or twice-"

"A minute-"

"All summer-"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a Prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term -- send me an owl when you get there."  
She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins. "Now, you two -- this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've- you've blown up a toilet or-"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?" One twin said and Harry leaned further back in his seat so he wasn't discovered. "You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry heard the little girl's voice gasp and watched her grab onto her mother's shirt. "Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see him, Mom, eh please...."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there - like lightning."

"Poor dear. But I wonder who that man with him was. An American muggle, at that. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern. "I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mom."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved. Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He was leaving his home behind, and he'd miss it every day, but he was on a new adventure that he never thought possible while he lived with the Dursley's. 

Harry grabbed a random textbook from his trunk and sat back down. He had no idea how long the train ride was, so he settled in for the ride. It was just a few minutes later when the compartment door slid open and one of the redhaired boys peeked his head in. "Mind if I sit?" He asked, gesturing over to the seat across from Harry. "Everywhere else is full." 

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug, before going back to his book. The boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry pretended he hadn't noticed, maybe hoping that the boy would just let it go. 

"Hey, Ron." The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train -- Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

"Bye," said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out when he just couldn't hold it in anymore.

Harry sighed heavily and nodded. He set his book to the side, figuring that he wouldn't be able to get back to it right away. 

"Oh -well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got -- you know..." He pointed at Harry's forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared. "So that's where You-Know-Who..." 

"Yeah." 

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again. His cheeks were flushed a vibrant red color.

Harry found the boy nosey and a bit annoying, but honestly couldn't hold it against him. Harry remembered being very small and wanting nothing more than to have a friend. He remembered being lonely. So he smiled at the boy, folding one leg over the other. "Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry. 

"Er-Yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mom's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

The Weasleys were clearly one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron, suddenly changing the subject. "What are they like?"

"Well, I have a big family too. My adopted father, Bruce Wayne. I also have three brothers. Dick and Jason are both older than me and Tim is a year younger. Oh! I also have an honorary sister Barbra. And Alfred is kind of like a grandfather to us all. They're all really cool."

"Yeah? Is that who was with you on the platform?" He asked. 

"Yep," Harry said, popping his 'P'. "I guess he had to catch a flight back to Gotham, so he wasn't able to stay long." 

"Where's Gotham?" The boy asked. 

"New Jersey, America," Harry answered. "I know, it's pretty far away."

"Yeah, it really is."

"It must be pretty cool to have three wizard brothers, though. I'm the only wizard in my family, that I know of, anyway." 

"Five," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left -- Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat." Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.  
"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a Prefect, but they couldn't aff -- I mean, I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much because he went back to staring out of the window. 

Harry knew there was nothing wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he'd had no money whatsoever until he was eight. He'd lived off table scraps and his cousin's old clothes. He'd never even had a birthday party until he was nine years old. He told that to Ron, and it seemed to make him a little less self-conscious. "My aunt and uncle raised me before Bruce adopted me," he said. "They didn't tell me I was a wizard, either. Even though they knew." 

Around half-past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, who had never had wizard candy before, got to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry went out into the corridor. And he was ready to get as many Snickers and he could carry but the woman didn't have Snickers. What she did have were Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Harry had never seen in his life. Not wanting to miss anything, he got some of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought it all back into the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat. "Hungry, are you?"

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty. Alfred didn't let him eat a lot of candy back home. Always worried about his teeth and his health. Fair enough, he guessed, but he figured what Alfred didn't know wouldn't hurt him. 

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up a pasty. "Go on-"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry, missing somewhere in his mind when Jason would tempt him with sweets to do his chores. It was a nice feeling, sitting there with Ron, eating their way through all Harry's pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).  
"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not really frogs, are they?" He was starting to feel that nothing would surprise him.

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know -- Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, to collect -- famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't got Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half-moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore. "Dumbledore!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa -- thanks

Harry turned over his card and read:  
 _ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Harry turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared. "He's gone!"

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her... do you want it? You can start collecting." Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Harry. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "weird!"

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back into the picture on his card and gave him a small smile. Ron was more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the Famous Witches and Wizards cards, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off them. Soon he had not only Dumbledore and Morgana, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. He finally tore his eyes away from the druidess Cliodna, who was scratching her nose, to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry. "When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor -- you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you can get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a booger- flavored one once."

Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it carefully, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh -- see? Sprouts."

They had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Harry got toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was even brave enough to nibble the end of a funny gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned out to be pepper. The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills. 

"So what's Gotham like?" Ron asked when most of the candy was gone. 

"Oh, well it's nice in most parts. But there's a lot of crime in others. Actually, most people try to avoid walking alone at night. Until the Batman showed up anyway." 

"Batman?" Ron asked. 

"The Caped Crusader," Harry elaborated. "The Dark Knight. He protects the city from people like The Joker and Two-Face. There are British heroes too. Like Godiva. She's a member of the Global Guardians, you've heard of _her_ right?" He asked. 

"Yeah, I've heard of her," Ron said, seeming to understand. "She's a witch, you know." 

"I _didn't_ actually," Harry said, eyes widening. Should he tell Bruce that, he wondered? Well, it wasn't really his secret to tell. But maybe he should note it somewhere in a file.

The door to the compartment opened up and Harry felt a swell of irritation fester in his stomach when he caught sight of the rat-like face of the boy he'd met in the robe shop. There were two large boys on either side of him and Harry stood up, his heckles rising. 

"So it's true," the boy said, inviting himself in and looking at Harry. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards. They looked like they were ready, and waiting, for a fight. "What's it to you?" Harry asked, addressing the rat-boy directly. 

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He said it like Harry was supposed to be impressed. Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it. Of course, he didn't. This was the product of the ignorance that murdered his mother. The supremacy he knew very well from how some people spoke to Dick and Jason when he was younger. But it was skin color instead of magical bloodlines. Harry grit his teeth. Every word out of that snots mouth disgusted him. 

He leveled Malfoy with the coldest look he could manage, the kind that Batman would give to criminals. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thank you."

Draco sneered at him, genuinely surprised that Harry hadn't fallen to his knees in awe. He didn't go red but he did turn a pale pink on his cheeks. "Watch it, _Potter._ If you don't learn to be a bit more polite you'll wind up like your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. And look where _they_ ended up."

Harry could hit him, he realized. Smack the shit out of him and chase him off crying. Knock his teeth down his damn throat. But that was _hardly_ the reputation he wanted on his first day of school and Bruce had always been clear on using his training against civilian bullies. Being a racist, classist, _pig_ wasn't a crime, but in that moment Harry wished it was. Just so he could wipe that smug look off of Malfoy's face. 

Harry smiled, but it didn't put Malfoy at ease in the slightest. "Malfoy, I guess you must think you're important, don't you?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. "I don't have the need or the desire to impress you or to be polite to you. Leave." _Before this gets ugly._

"But we don't feet like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."  
Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron - Ron jumped forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell. Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle - Crabbe and Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling, and when Scabbets finally flew off and hit the window, all three of them disappeared at once. 

"What in the world is going on in here?" The voice of a young girl asked, stepping in after the three had left. She had big bushy hair and large front teeth. She also carried an air that reminded Harry a great deal of Babs. 

"Just a run-in with the stereotypical school bully," Harry said with a shrug. 

Ron was picking up Scabbers by his tail. "I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No -- I don't believe it -- he's gone back to sleep-" And so he had. 

"I've come to ask if anyone has seen a toad. Neville's lost one," she said. She stepped to the side, and Neville the Toadless waved to Ron and Harry. "And also, you shouldn't be starting fights before we've even gotten to school. You wouldn't want detention on the first day, would you?" 

"They started it," Ron defended quietly. 

The girl came into their compartment with Neville the Toadless and sat down. "Well, it would be very embarrassing for you, to have already been in trouble. _I,_ on the other hand, want to make a _good_ first impression on the teachers. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard -- I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough -- I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" She said all of this very fast and Harry had to hide his smile. Yep, just like Babs.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course -- I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth-first Century." 

"Am I?" Asked Harry, of _course_ having already read all three books at Bruce's insistence. "Huh, strange." 

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon." And she left, taking Neville the Toadless with her. 

"We should help find the toad," Harry suggested. "After we change into our robes." 

"What?!" Ron asked in surprised indignation. "And have to talk to _her_ again? No thank you." 

"Suit yourself," Harry said with a shrug. He pulled on his school uniform and gave Ron one last smile before heading out into the hall of the train. He found Hermione and Neville the Toadless just two compartments over. "Hey!" He called, jogging over. "Let me help." 

"Of course," Hermione said. "We've already checked the front of the train." 

"What kind of toad are we looking for?" Harry asked. "And would you mind if we went back to your original compartment, Neville?" He asked. 

They went back toward the front of the train and Harry listened to Neville the Toadless describing his lost frog. Harry stepped onto the seat and looked at the upper compartment. He felt around and found a small hole in Neville's trunk. He smiled and pulled a wriggling amphibian from Neville's things. 

"Trevor!" Neville cried happily and held the toad tighter when Harry handed it to him. "But how did you know?" He asked. 

"I figured he was probably looking somewhere dark to sleep, guess I was right." 

Harry looked up when a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." 

Harry grinned at Hermione and Neville the No Longer Toadless. "See you at the castle," he said, before heading back to the compartment he'd shared with Ron.


	3. Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter, sorry.

Harry wound up in a boat with Ron, Blaise-the boy he'd met at the book store, and a blond girl who introduced herself as Susan Bones. When the boats set off into the water, Harry held firm to the side. He'd never been on an open boat before. Usually, it was when the Batmobile went into the amphibian mode, and he hardly could feel the rocking. Now, one wrong move and he'd be swimming into the inky black water. 

"Potter," Blaise said with a cool smile. "Wonderful to see you again." 

"Oh...you too, Zabini," Harry said, mirroring his expression. 

They continued the rest of the journey in silence until the castle came into view. It glowed, a beautiful yellow beacon in the dark night. It was stunning. Harry leaned closer to the edge of the boat, resting his chin against the palm of his hand and watching the castle get closer and closer. When they docked, he reluctantly pulled his eyes away and stood up, straightening his robes. The large man who had escorted them there raised a hand and pounded on the door. 

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross. She was also very familiar. Harry gave professor McGonagall a smile and a wave when he caught her eye and she nodded in his direction, her lips twitching up every so slightly.   
  
"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.  
  
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

Harry 'ooohed' with everyone else when they stepped inside to the large entrance hall. Large enough that the whole Batcave could fit inside of it. The ceiling was too high to see the top and the staircases were made of marble. The walls and curious paintings were illuminated but large orange torches. 

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -- the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. Harry tried to keep from brushing up against strangers, but it was harder than it looked. 

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.  
  
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.  
  
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."  
  
Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Harry had lost the battle with his hair a long time ago but still made an effort to try and make it lay flat. 

"What's the sorting ceremony?" Harry asked Zabini who was standing the closest. 

The dark-skinned boy looked up, surprised that Harry had addressed him, and shrugged. "It's a well-kept secret. Tradition, you know. Some people say that you have to perform magic. Or fight a troll, but no one who hasn't been sorted knows. It's all just rumor and speculation." 

"And it's not like anyone who _has_ been sorted could tell us." 

" _Exactly,"_ Zabini said with a wink. He looked over at Ron, who was standing at Harry's left-hand side and tried to hide his grimace, but Harry caught it. He decided since Zabini wasn't going to address it, then neither would Harry. 

He could admit to himself that he was nervous, but he couldn't say it out loud. It wasn't the same type of rush he got when he went tumbling over the edge of a skyscraper. It was the kind of nervousness that he felt when he was at a Wayne charity gala. Or when reporters asked him questions about living with Bruce. The kind of nervousness he only felt when he was being observed by other people. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would return to march Harry to his doom. 

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air -- several people behind him screamed.  
  
"What the -- ?"  
  
He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance--"  
  
"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?"  
  
A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.  
  
Nobody answered.  
  
"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"  
  
A few people nodded mutely.  
  
"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."  
  
"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."  
  
Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.  
  
"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."  
  
Feeling as if his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall. 

In all of Harry's most wild dreams, he could never have pictured a place so beautiful. The entire hall was illuminated by thousands and _thousands_ of glowing candles that were floating in midair above the staff and students. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

And it was easy for Harry to imagine that the great hall simply just had no ceiling. Harry came back down to Earth when McGonagall came back to them with a wooden stool. She placed it in front of them and on top of it, she placed a ragged looking witch's hat. Its tip sagged and it was ripped in several places. It was also very dirty. Harry hid a smile behind his hand. He imagined Alfred throwing the thing out the window if it was ever placed anywhere in his kitchen. 

Harry wondered what the point of the hat was. Maybe they had to pull a rabbit out of it? Or turn it into something else? He noticed that every student and teacher-excluding one dark clothed man who a scowl, greasy hair, and a hooked nose who seemed far more interested in a loose string on his robe-was watching the hat with anticipation. 

Harry would have liked to say that being Sparrow, fighting alongside Batman, and finding out he was a wizard when he was nine would have made sure nothing would surprise him. But when the hat suddenly came to life with a violent twitch and the rip on the front formed a mouth, he jumped along with every other first year. 

Then it started to sing. 

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_   
_But don't judge on what you see,_   
_I'll eat myself if you can find_   
_A smarter hat than me._   
_You can keep your bowlers black,_   
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_   
_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_   
  
_And I can cap them all._   
  
_There's nothing hidden in your head_   
_The Sorting Hat can't see,_   
_So try me on and I will tell you_   
_Where you ought to be._   
  
_You might belong in Gryffindor,_   
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_   
_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_   
_Set Gryffindors apart;_   
  
_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_   
_Where they are just and loyal,_   
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_   
_And unafraid of toil;_   
  
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,_   
_Where those of wit and learning,_   
_Will always find their kind;_   
  
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_   
_You'll make your real friends,_   
_Those cunning folk use any means_   
_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_   
_And don't get in a flap!_   
_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_   
_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

When it was finished, the hall burst into applause and the hat bowed to each one of the four tables before straightening back up. All that worrying and all Harry had to do was try on a stupid hat. He smirked, he couldn't wait to tell Dick about it. A _singing_ magic hat. He'd love it. ( _Jasonwouldhavelovedittoo)._ From behind him, Harry could hear Ron cursing his brothers for working him up about the sorting. But Harry still wished he could try it on without the entire school watching them. 

Professor McGonagall stepped in front of them with a rolled-up piece of parchment. "When I call your name, sit down and put the hat on your head," she instructed them. "Abbot, Hanna," she called the first name. 

A young girl with pigtails and a pink face skipped to the front. She grabbed the hat and placed it on top of her head. There was a moment of pause before the hat loudly declared 'HUFFLEPUFF' and the girl hopped up and joined a cheering table of yellow and black. Harry noticed that the accents of her robes changed colors and the Hogwarts insignia changed to a badger in yellow and black. 

Susan Bones, the girl from the boat, was also a Hufflepuff. Terry Boot became a Ravenclaw and so was Mandy Brocklehurst. Lavender Brown became the first Gryffindor and she even stopped to do a pose while Ron's older brothers catcalled her. Millicent Bulstrode went to Slytherin. Justin Finch-Fletchley became the third Hufflepuff. 

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

Hermione followed him to Gryffindor and so did the next two students. Neville the No Longer Toadless went to Gryffindor as well and took the hat with him. He ran back with a furious blush on his face when several people laughed so he could hand it to MacDougal, Morag who went to Ravenclaw. 

Malfoy went to Slytherin and seemed so smug about it that Harry's eye twitched in irritation. He went and sat with his two bodyguards who were in the same house. Lily Moon went to Slytherin with him as did Theador Nott, and Pansy Parkinson. Two twin girls named Patil were split up. One to Gryffindor and the other to Ravenclaw. And then finally-

"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall called, her gaze drifting to him. She gave him a look that he was sure she meant to be encouraging. But when Harry noticed that the hall fell into complete silence, he stiffened up. He walked toward the hat and sat down. And then the whispering started, from all corners of the room. It was enough to make his skin crawl. The last thing he saw before the hat was lowered over his head, was a hall full of people straining so they could get a good look at him. 

_"Hmm,"_ said a small voice in his ear. _"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes-and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... A strong sense of justice as well as a cunning ability to get the job done. So where shall I put you?"_

Harry had to keep his posture relaxed but dignified. He didn't want anyone like _Malfoy_ to sense his nervousness and mistake it for weakness. _"That's quite telling, young man,"_ the hat said. _"You could be great you know, and Slytherin will help you make it there. Yes, that's it I think. Better be..."_

"SLYTHERIN."

The hall fell into _total_ silence but this time Harry could taste the shock on the tip of his tongue. He took off the hat and stood up, letting his face fall into an impassive mask when he handed it back to McGonagall who looked just as surprised. He felt a wave of what he could only describe as magic wash over him and the accents of his robe changed to deep emerald green. He took three steps before the table on the far left side of the hall lost its collective shit. 

People were reaching over to shake his hand, people slapping him on the back. People were taunting the rest of the hall with 'we got Potter!' One of the Prefects stood up from her seat and guided Harry toward the other first years, scolding her housemates. She sat Harry next to Lily Moon who greeted him with a sweet smile. 

Now there were only four people left to sort. Dean Thomas went to Gryffindor. Lisa Turpin went to Ravenclaw. Ron went to Gryffindor with his brothers. Blaise Zabini went to Slytherin and settled himself comfortably on Harry's right side. "You know how to make an entrance, don't you Potter?" He asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

"I _guess,_ " Harry said, not sure how he was supposed to react. Now that he could properly see the staff table, his eyes drifted over them all. Until his eyes landed on the man with the greasy hair who was glaring at him fiercely with clenched fists. Harry winced, hand flying to his scar that had started to _burn_ like someone had touched him with a hot iron. The man's head whipped to the side, and he looked at the teacher who wore a purple headwrap. 

_That_ was going to be a problem he would need to address sooner than later. When Blaise asked him what was wrong he brushed him off and said 'brain freeze' which didn't seem to confuse him any less. Which was _fine_ , not the problem at the moment. Once upon a time, Harry's new headmaster had told Bruce that people who had followed Voldemort might come after Harry. Which was the reason that they had to keep magical wards up around their house at all times. That was the reason that Zatana had to come around once a year to strengthen them. This dark looking teacher might have been one of those followers. He needed to tell Bruce as soon as possible. 

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Then he sat back down. 

_'Oh, he's nuts,'_ Harry thought. Honestly, Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh or clap. 

"Oy, Potter," someone across from Harry said. "Pass the potatoes." 

Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

In his mind, he remembered a time when he was a little boy when his relatives would half starve him. When people could see his ribs under his skin. And when he did get food, it would be small portions of whatever Petunia made for the family. Of course, only after they'd all eaten before him. 

At some point, the conversation of family lines had come up. "My mother is a pureblood and my father is a muggle-born," she said. "They both have muggle jobs. They're diplomats." 

"Well," Malfoy said with a roll of his eyes. "My bloodline is, of course, purer than most. My family is one of the sacred twenty-eight." His eyes snapped over to Blaise and Harry who both stiffened. "Now let's hear _your_ sordid history, Zabini," he said. 

"My mother is one of the most respected researchers in Italy, as your well aware Malfoy," he said coldly. Harry didn't miss that his knuckles turned white with how tightly he held his fork. 

"At least even a bastard can tell you who his mother was. Puts you one up on Potter, right," Malfoy looked over at Harry. And Harry noticed that several older students were pretending not to listen to the petty squabble. "Why don't you tell us about the _muggles_ who raised you." 

Harry smirked at him and rolled his eyes. Those were low blows and were obviously intended to throw him off his game. "I moved to America when I was eight and I was adopted by Bruce Wayne. He's the richest man in the country. Not only that, unlike _your_ father-who, lived purely on 'daddy's money' like you no doubt will-he's managed to propel Wayne Enterprise into a Multinational conglomerate. Wayne Enterprise has helped millions of people across the world, but I guess someone as shallow and empty-headed as you wouldn't care about that would you? Oh, and my older brother Richard is a police officer in the Bludhaven PD, he's saved lives, and managed to take down three of the most powerful crime families in the city-again not that someone as vapid and self-centered as you would care. There's also my _younger_ brother, who was recognized as one of the most genius minds in America last month." He blinked at Malfoy-who had gotten pinker and angrier with every word that Harry spoke. "Did that go how you think it would, Malfoy?" He asked pleasantly.

A boy of about thirteen covered his mouth when he snorted. Several other students were also expressing quiet amusement. Was that how it was going to be for the next seven years? One power play after the other. If that was the case, he had no intention of ever giving in. Especially not to the likes of Malfoy. 

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.  
  
"Ahem -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."  
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." 

Harry figured that was something he _shouldn't_ tell Bruce. He could be a bit of PTA mom when it came to their education. A corridor where one could potentially die a painful death would for _sure_ be something Bruce would storm down to the headmaster's office to demand an explanation.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.  
  
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.  
  
"Everyone pick your favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.  
  
"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years were wrangled together by two sixth year Prefects, who introduced themselves as Joshua Donavin and Samatha Yu. They were led in single file down to the dungeons of the castle. It was cold and dark. The only source of light were the torches on the walls. Harry could _appreciate_ a well maintained aesthetic, but he just _knew_ that the 'ancient history' design of the castle was going to get kind of old eventually. 

At the very end of the corridor, they all stopped in front of a blank stone wall. "Watch this," Yu said, smiling at them all. She turned around and put her hands behind her back. "Hippogriff," she said. The wall shook for a moment before the stone started to turn in on itself, sliding away to reveal another corridor where the entrance to the common room was. They continued and Donavin opened the door for them, stepping to the side. 

The Slytherin common room had a low hanging ceiling with orbs of green light attached to it. It looked like they had stumbled into a dungeon. The room was filled with both skull and snake-like decore. The fire roared green and emitted warmth despite how cold the common room looked like it should be. There were high backed chairs in all corners of the room. Tall bookshelves and round tables for studying. There were a few couches situated around the area where the fireplace was-which was where Yu directed them to sit-and there were a few chess sets around the room. But the most amazing part of the common room-in Harry's opinion-were the large windows that allowed the students to look under the lake. Which was where most of the green light came from.

"A few rules before you can head off to bed," Yu said. "All students must be up by seven in the morning and down in the great hall by seven-thirty. First years should note that light out is at eight-thirty, non-negotiable. Any first years caught out of bed past then will get one warning. Otherwise, every other instance will be one-week of detention. You are to keep all petty squabbles among your housemates _inside_ the common room. And once a week all first years are to spend Fridays between five in the afternoon to seven in the afternoon studying with older students. You will be assigned, groups. Your group leaders are seventh years who have volunteered their time to help you, despite their own looming exams. You will show them _respect_ and you will be _grateful_ for their help." She clapped her hands. "Now, boys to the left, girls to the right. Off to bed!"

The first years scattered and raced to their dorms. Harry managed to claim the bed closest to the window. His things were already there. He sat down and started removing his shoes. He felt someone grab him by the shirt and throw him on the ground. It was one of Malfoy's thugs. Malfoy sat down on Harry's bed and smirked. "I think I like this spot." 

Harry was mad. Harry didn't think. He turned around, grabbed the thugs' wrist and twisted it behind his back. He shoved him against the wall and leaned in close to his ear. "If you _ever_ put your hands on me again," he whispered dangerously. "I will make you regret it with every fiber of your idiotic mind." He let go and slowly rounded on Malfoy who pretended that he wasn't nervous. "Get out of my bed Malfoy," he ordered.

"Make me," he said. "If you touched me, my father would-" 

Harry grabbed him by the robe and yanked him off. Then pushed him onto the next bed over. The pompous little weasel sputtered in indignation. 'My father this, my father that.' No threats that Harry found particularly frightening. "Malfoy, shut up," he said. "I am _so_ not interested in fighting with you. That takes more energy than I currently have. I'm going to tell you once-and only once-to leave me alone." Then he sat in his bed and yanked the curtains closed.

Not exactly how he wanted to start his stay at Hogwarts, but what was he supposed to do? 

He drifted off into an uneasy sleep. Perhaps Harry had eaten too much because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing the professor's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Gryffindor at once because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be in Gryffindor; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully -- and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it -- then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold -- there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.   
  
He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it! Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!


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